


i want you, i'll color me blue

by glitterprincee



Series: sing me a song, baby? [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Brainwashing, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Depressed Steve, Kissing, M/M, Mental Illness, Post Civil War, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, along with many other things, apparently i like to make steve cry oops, depressed Bucky, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterprincee/pseuds/glitterprincee
Summary: steve nearly loses all hope of ever seeing his friend again when they move back to brooklyn and bucky doesn't leave his room.





	i want you, i'll color me blue

**Author's Note:**

> not to be that gay™ but i have a love for the song "blue" by troye sivan and it hurt my heart in a way that could only be made right by steve and bucky.

 

 _love it's hard, i know_  
_all your lights are red, but i'm green to go_  
_used to see you high, now you're only low_  
_all your lights are red but i'm green to go_

 

Maybe Steve was a fool, his hopes set foolishly too high. It wouldn't be unusual in regards to Bucky, anyway, he had trekked miles behind enemy lines during the war on the slim hope that Bucky was still alive. He had looked worse for wear when Steve unstrapped him from the table. But he had come back to him, nevertheless, still made crass jokes and chased skirts and covered Steve's six. There were the times where Steve caught the empty look in Bucky's eyes when he thought he wasn't looking and Bucky would catch him and throw him his trademark charming smirk before ducking his head and wandering off for a solitary smoke. Bucky was quieter than he used to be, but it didn't feel like he was lost to Steve. Not until he fell and Steve crashed and they both woke up in the 21st century, irrevocably changed by the circumstances of their lives. So, maybe Steve had set his hopes foolishly high, thinking that it could be the way it was, thinking that Bucky would be hurting but he would recover.

Before Steve let Bucky beat him into a near unconscious mess, Sam had cautiously told him that Bucky may be beyond saving. Sam's doubts about the wellness of Bucky's mind weren't quelled during the events of the clash between the avengers; it didn't help that Bucky had reverted back to the winter soldier after the utterance of a few choice words. Bucky was in cryo for a year, leaving Sam ample time to prepare Steve for the reality that Bucky would be working through a myriad of psychological issues, none of which could be cured overnight. There was the underlying truth, unspoken although it was, that Bucky's mind might not recover at all.

On the morning that Bucky woke up, Steve admittedly had higher hopes for their reunion. Bucky had barely uttered a word to him, and after the doctors had run their tests, he had quickly retreated to his room and shut the door. Sam gently suggested giving Bucky his space, letting him come to Steve on his own. And Steve had tried, he really did, but days turned into weeks and Bucky seemed to be avoiding all interaction. He thought that taking Bucky back to Brooklyn, back home, would lift his reclusive mood. Steve had asked, giving Bucky the choice to go or stay, but it was as if Steve hadn't said a word. Bucky just shrugged and they left the next day.

Steve moved them into a two bedroom apartment, small enough to be familiar, large enough to give Bucky his space. Moving had done nothing to spark a light behind his friends eyes. He darted into the room nearest to the exit and shut the door, no sooner than Steve was able to drop the keys on the counter. It would be hard to watch the turmoil burn beneath the surface, except Steve wasn't even able to watch. Bucky never came out during the day. Steve took to laying clean clothes in front of Bucky's door every evening after dinner, leaving a plate for him too. Steve ate alone. In the morning, the dirty clothes would be neatly folded. Sometimes dinner wasn't on the plate. Most times it was.

Steve wanted to see it as something of progress, recounting his endeavors in giving Bucky his space and his choice to Sam who listened quietly and only offered his professional opinion when prompted. Steve knew that Sam wasn't incredibly optimistic in Bucky's recovery, but he appreciated his discretion regardless. Sam wasn't optimistic, but he was aware that Barnes was the last thing tethering Steve to this world. Losing Barnes again would tear Steve right apart, maybe for good, so Sam stayed by his side like he always did. He wasn't optimistic. But he'd be damned if he said he wasn't praying for a miracle.

After one month of living in the new Brooklyn apartment, Bucky still remaining behind closed doors, Steve started sleeping on the floor outside Bucky's door. He laid next to the plate of food and stack of fresh clothes and just listened. Bucky had nightmares every night; Steve woke up to his screaming. The first couple of times, Steve had bolted across their apartment to Bucky's door, begging to be let in. When he ripped the door off the hinges, Bucky had lunged at him, knocking him back so hard into the wall that he left a hole in it, lips snarling "don't" before he leapt through the window and disappeared for an entire week and a half. Steve never tried to interfere again. He just slept outside Bucky's door, listening to his friends screams and wails and pleas. Steve got used to crying himself to sleep.

Steve wanted nothing more than to give his support, but Bucky wouldn't let him. Never mind that Steve remembered everything from their past. Never mind that Steve could hardly contain how much he just _wanted_ Bucky. Never mind any of it, Steve could live without the affection he craved so dearly if that was Bucky's choice. His choice was more important that Steve's own selfish desires. He just wanted to give the love that he knew Bucky didn't receive for years. But Bucky wouldn't let him.

 

_i can't say no, though the lights are on there's nobody home  
swore i'd never lose control, then i fell in love with a heart that beats so slow_

 

Sam started to worry about Steve when he stopped going on their morning runs. It started off slowly, poor excuses, but Sam let it slide because he knew what Steve was going through. It was when Steve stopped making excuses, stopped answering his phone, stopped leaving the house all together. Sam stopped over at Steve's place a few times, he told himself it was just to check in, but it was more because he was anxious that the reason for Steve's disappearance was because of the reappearance of the winter soldier. Sometimes Steve wouldn't come to the door; when he did, he tried to put on his captain america face, tried to act like he was keeping it together. If Sam noticed that Steve's eyes were red and puffy, he didn't mention it. He also didn't mention the state of Steve's apartment - not at first. He entered slowly, taking in the surroundings and the reality dawned on him that it was a wreck, it was worse than he thought. There were fist sized holes in the drywall, fragments of porcelain plates and crystalline glasses. The mirror in their living room was shattered.

"Sorry about the mess," Steve mumbled, though he sounded more tired than sorry. "Wasn't expecting company."

"Yeah, well, when you stopped returning my calls, I figured I should come over," Sam tried for nonchalant, but it came out forlornly. The apartment was a visual representation of Steve's emotional state. He had never seen his friend this distraught.

Steve trudged over to the couch, exhaling lowly as he sank down into the cushions, cradling his head in his hands.

"Steve," Sam began slowly, gently picking his way across the debris on the floor to reach the couch. "This - what happened here?" Steve didn't answer. It didn't even look like he was breathing, he was so still.

Sam crossed the rest of the living room, sitting next to Steve on the couch. He scanned the area for Barnes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was this - ?

"Steve," Sam said, soft but firm. "Did Barnes do this?"

Steve flinched like he had been burned, looking at Sam with red rimmed eyes.

"No," Steve said, brow creasing in incredulity at the mere suggestion of Bucky wrecking havoc. "He - he doesn't do that anymore."

Sam was quiet, realization that this was Steve's doing, washing over him. Steve lowered his head back into his hands; Sam went to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder when he found it shaking. Shaking with the weight of unshed tears.

"He won't come out, Sam," Steve cried into the silence, voice cracking. His shoulders continued to quiver. "I've - I leave food and clothes for him, and I eat dinner alone and I listen to his nightmares every night." Steve heaved in a labored breath. "I've been trying, but he won't come out, Sam. He's not getting better, he won't come back to me."

Sam squeezed Steve's shoulder - it was all he could do, he couldn't offer any reassurance. This was his friend, his captain, falling to pieces, and for once, Sam couldn't find the words to say. So he didn't say anything, just gripped onto to Steve and listened as he tried to calm his breathing.

A moment later, Steve spoke again, "I promised myself that I - that I wouldn't lose control like this, but I don't know what to do. I went from accidental mistakes to purposely shattering walls." Steve released a bitter laugh. "Maybe I was hoping it would draw him out. Or maybe I thought it would make him remember that I'm no good at being without him. But he doesn't want me. Doesn't even need me."

Sam glanced at the closed door he assumed was Barnes room, and suddenly was consumed with a small rage. Barnes was right there in that room, _right there_ , listening to Steve hurt himself, and didn't have the heart to just fucking come out. Sam wasn't angry enough to irrationally look over the things that Barnes was no doubt processing, but he was angry enough to resent him for making Steve hurt. Steve talked about Barnes like he hung the fucking moon and he wouldn't even come out.

"I don't think he's there anymore," Steve whispered so softly that Sam almost missed it. He was hoping he misheard.

"What?"

Steve looked up and Sam could see the pain behind them. He didn't look like the hero on the front of Time magazine that everyone made him out to me; now he just looked like a man. A man who was hurting as he was in the midst of losing the final thing he truly cared about.

"I don't think he's there anymore, Sam." He hadn't misheard.

"Hey now," Sam said, trying to avoid the lump forming in his throat. "Don't give up on Barnes, if anything will bring him back, it's that stubborn streak you have."

Steve smiled at him, but it was sorrowful. He slowly shook his head as he said, "He looks like Bucky, but he's not there. There's nobody home, Sam. Nobody -" Steve's voice started to rise, "I loved - _love_ him, Sam! I love him so fucking much. And now -"

Steve stopped and shook his head again, then stood up from the couch and wandered down the hall to his room, shutting the door, leaving Sam alone on the couch in the living room.

 

_i know you're seeing black and white, so i'll paint you a clear blue sky  
without you i'm color blind, it's raining every time i open my eyes_

 

Sam did what he could to keep Steve from dwelling in what he couldn't change, even recruiting Natasha to frighten Steve into socializing. Steve did, but his laughs were hollow and conversations were empty. He kept himself locked away in his apartment most of the time. Distantly, Steve knew that he was hurting his friends as much as Bucky was hurting him, but he couldn't bring himself to try anymore. It hurt to be alive, to be worried over and tiptoed around. He had been hurting all his life and he was tired.

Steve started drawing again, that had always helped his melancholy back before the war. He painted the sunrise every morning when he couldn't sleep, either from Bucky's nightmares or his own. He started leaving paintings of the sky outside Bucky's door, along side his usual clothes and food. He had long since stopped sleeping outside Bucky's door. Steve would paint the sunrise, the clouds in central park on the rare day he went out, the moon over the city. He liked the sky; it reminded him of simpler times, back when he and Bucky spent carefree days under the sun at the beach on Coney Island, back before Steve's tears came from the heavens and drowned him. He dreamed of disappearing into the clear blue in a spring day, a soft breeze to carry him to kingdom come.

He also drew Bucky from memory, every day, so he would never forget his face. It seemed like a lifetime ago last he saw it. Those drawings, he kept for himself.

Some days, however, Steve didn't draw, didn't eat, didn't leave his bed. He would lie there, curled up on his side, crying into his fist. He would cry from dawn to dusk, sometimes. He would cry until he passed out and his eyes were swollen shut when he tried to open them again. It hurt worse than when he woke up in the wrong time, when everyone and everything he had known and loved was gone. The one person he had left was right across the hall and he wouldn't even speak to Steve. His heart was being ripped apart and _god_ it hurt like hell. He felt more alone than he'd ever been.

On the sparse good days he did have, Steve had managed to start working on a six foot painting of the view of the sky from their place. It was mind numbing work which really could've been completed in a day or two, but the colors were dull in Steve's minds eye. He painted coat after coat, mixing blues to create different hues and tones, not that he could even tell the difference. Everything in his life seemed to blend together these days.

 

  
_i want you, i'll color me blue_  
_anything it takes to make you stay_  
_only seeing myself, when i'm looking up at you_

 

  
Steve didn't remember crawling into bed that night. He didn't remember to wash off the blue he had worked onto his body while painting. He didn't remember starting to cry. Hell, he didn't even remember to try to keep quiet anymore - Bucky was gone, he didn't care, and nothing else mattered. He stared at the drawings of Bucky he had tacked onto his wall through half lidded, blurry eyes. His eyes drifted to the picture frame laying face down on his side table, hot tears tumbling out from the corners of his eyes because Bucky was smiling in that picture. Smiling, cocky as ever, in his new uniform the night before he shipped off, arm slung around Steve's shoulder. Steve had turned it over after he knew that Bucky was gone. He wasn't cruel enough to put it away, some part of himself reveling in the pain. It was what he deserved anyway. Bucky wouldn't be like this if he had just followed him down into that ravine, fell down beside him, let Hyrda try to take them both. Seeing remnants of the old friend he once knew hurt, but not nearly enough as imagining the hurt Bucky went through.

Steve reached out and caressed the back of the picture frame, sniffling sadly.

"Bucky," he sobbed. "Bucky, Bucky, Bucky," he repeated, wailing louder and louder until he was muffling his cries into his pillow. "Come back, please - god - come back, please, Bucky, please."

"Steve?" a low voice rasped from the doorway.

Steve's cried quieted as he slowly turned over, wiping his eyes to see if it really was -

"Bucky?" he whispered, disbelieving and hoarse from sobbing.

"You're...crying," Bucky said, tilting his head to the side like he couldn't fathom the sight.

"I'm sad," was the understated response.

"Are you - you're sad, because of me?"

Steve huffed another sob and rolled over, back facing Bucky. Bucky's eyes traced Steve's form, Steve could feel the weight of his scrutiny from across the room. He pulled the covers higher over his shoulders, tucking up to his neck, trying to hide his vulnerability. He hadn't seen or heard Bucky - unless it was a night terror - in almost three months, what was he supposed to say now that he was here? He was dumbstruck all over again, just like he was when the mask fell off, revealing the face of his oldest friend.

"You didn't leave a plate out tonight."

Steve was seeing red then.

"That's what you came in here for?" he asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "You came out because I didn't fix you dinner, like I've been doing for months? Fuck you, _James_ ," Steve seethed. It riled him up even more that Bucky didn't even have the sense to look apologetic, he looked confused of all things. "Fuck you, you couldn't even come out - I begged you - and you want your dinner? I've listened to you have nightmares, torn myself to pieces waiting for you to let me help you, and all you want is your _fucking_ dinner?"

Steve knew that he wasn't being fair, but _god_ he was so angry. His eyes were welling up with tears again, this time the hurt mixing with his anger.

Bucky didn't speak for a moment, eyes shining as he studied Steve from across the room. He looked away as he said, "It wasn't about the dinner. I thought, since you didn't leave it that - that maybe something happened to you."

"I didn't think you cared," Steve spit.

Bucky tilted his head again. "Of course I cared, Steve. I - I've always cared about you."

"Stop it," Steve said, trying to keep it together for all he was worth, but failing nonetheless. "You don't mean that, don't say that." His voice was shaking.

"You're too good." Bucky carried on like Steve hadn't said a word.

"Fuck you -" Steve started again.

"Please, Steve, please let me -" Bucky looked troubled as he halted in the middle of his sentence, a frightened look crossing over his face. Steve's stomach dropped at that; Bucky was expecting some sort of punishment for voicing his wants. Steve swiped at his eyes as he set his jaw defiantly. Bucky looked uncertain, but he tried again.

"When they put me in cryo," he began quietly, "I would have these dreams, visions. They would feel so real and I wanted - I didn't know how to tell if you were real. There were these...versions of you, you were angry at me, sometimes." Bucky's brow was furrowed. "But, other times, you - you wanted me?" He sounded so small and confused. "I mean, wanted me, made me feel good. I couldn't understand why you wanted me to feel those things."

Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing, all former thoughts startled right out of his mind.

"On the days when I didn't eat the food you left me, I was away. I was trying - I wanted to remember. To remember you, the real you. For a long time, I didn't know the difference."

Steve thought back to his outbursts where he smashed the walls and mirrors and anything more fragile than he was. He felt his blood run cold. _I probably scared him, oh god._ Steve slowly shifted onto his knees out from under the covers. Bucky stayed near the door, eyes on Steve, not calculating, just wary. He shuffled to the end of the bed, settling back on his heels as he looked up at Bucky. His heart was aching at the sight of him.

"I know you," Bucky said softly. He looked down at his flesh hand, hesitantly reaching out to touch Steve, not sure if he's allowed. "I remember, it's you."

Steve brought his hand up to meet Bucky's, gently bringing it up to the side of his face. Steve leaned into the warmth, sighing as he closed his eyes and reveled in the touch. Bucky swiped away the tracks of tears left on Steve's face, looking down at him in unabashed wonder. Steve reopened his eyes and caught the look on Bucky's face. The fire of hope that burned strong within him before had all but gone out over the last three months, and yet, the embers smoldered back to life at Bucky's touch. Did he dare?

"Buck," he exhaled, turning his face more towards the hand on his face as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. "Did you remember -?" his blue eyes were glassy in the moonlight as he looked up in Bucky's own. He couldn't make himself say it, he was choking on the words, trying not to cry as the hope burned brighter.

"I remembered us, Stevie. It took me so long, I'm sorry -"

Steve surged up and captured Bucky's lips with his own, catching the end of Bucky's sentence in his mouth. Bucky made a startled noise and momentarily didn't kiss back; that frightened Steve. He started to back off and apologize when Bucky tangled his metal hand in Steve's soft golden hair and began kissing him feverishly, panting hotly into his mouth.

"M'sorry, Steve," Bucky mumbled against their kiss.

"Don't you dare be sorry," Steve reprimanded, before diving back in to capture Bucky's lips with his own.

Bucky mouthed along Steve's jaw, tilting his head back with the hand in his hair so he could gain better access to Steve's neck. Biting down on the spot below his ear made Steve's eyes flutter shut as a soft moan escaped his lips.

"I want you, Buck, please," Steve cried, wrapping his arms around Bucky, not quite believing that this wasn't a dream. "Want you, _want you_ , please don't leave me."

Bucky kissed down Steve's neck and collarbones to mark up the other side of his throat. The marks would be gone by morning, but it didn't mean that Bucky wouldn't leave them anyway. Not when he remembered.

"Won't ever leave you, love you," Bucky said against Steve's skin as he nosed his way up to his jaw again. He nipped at the skin there, pulling away when the skin beneath his tongue tasted different.

"You're blue," Bucky stated flatly, the way he did when he was confused.

"Was painting," Steve mumbled, nuzzling back into Bucky, pressing his cheek to Bucky's lips. "Paintin' the sky, like when we were young. Thought you might come out if you saw how pretty it was. Would do anythin' to make you stay."

Bucky placed his flesh fingers against the side of Steve's face, guiding their lips back together. Bucky didn't talk like he used to - used to be a steady stream of filth coming from his mouth, getting Steve hot under the collar. He was quiet now, his touches on the right side of rough where they used to be gentle, claiming, but also exploratory as he relearned the feel of Steve's body beneath him.

"I hung up all your skies," Bucky said. "Want you to color me blue next, okay?"

"Anythin' to make you stay," Steve slurred again.

"Ain't ever gonna leave you again." That was a promise.

Bucky hauled Steve up to the top of the bed, settling Steve beneath the covers before folding in after him. Steve's eyes never left him, full of disbelief, as if he would disappear if Steve so much as blinked. Bucky laid down and pulled Steve close so that he was lying on top of him, head nestled under his chin, their legs tangled together. Bucky smoothed Steve's hair as he pressed sweet kisses onto his head, Steve making a contented sigh with every affection laid upon him. The pair of them fell asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms. Neither of them had nightmares.

Steve's last sleeping thought was that he felt whole again. He needed Bucky like he needed air to breathe. Bucky was the only one who saw him not as captain america, but as Steve Rogers, that stubborn little cuss from Brooklyn who looked up at Bucky like he was the god of his idolatry. He saw himself clearly for the first time since he came up from the ice. They were far from who they used to be and even further away from being alright, but it wasn't so hard anymore. Bucky wasn't lost anymore. And Steve was home. They both finally came home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i really wish i had the patience to make this a longer fic where i could go into real character details and development. alas, i don't have any patience and cap is disappointed in me. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @deadairhostage especially if you have a song that reminds you of the boys


End file.
